


We've Already Lost Indiana

by newredshoes



Category: Supernatural, The West Wing
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-11
Updated: 2008-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-13 13:42:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newredshoes/pseuds/newredshoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Toby Ziegler ruined Dean Winchester's life, and Sam failed to inspire a keystone policy of Josiah Bartlet's re-election platform.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We've Already Lost Indiana

Toby hates beating a retreat, but he’s not stupid and he knows as well as Josh does that Donna just took their knees out from under them where moral superiority is concerned. That’s why they’re slinking away from the be-disco balled dance hall into the bar in a crappy motel in Wherever, Indiana, and that’s why both Toby and Josh take seats at opposite ends of the bar, each too embarrassed to look at the other.

There’s a kid sitting in the middle, one seat away from where Toby settles. He’s hunched over a soda, what little of his face that’s visible beneath a shag of untended brown hair sourly broadcasting that he’d probably prefer something harder. Almost everything about him is too big, save for the cuffs of his jeans and jacket. He seems intent on not noticing anyone else in the room, and Toby is quite content to return the courtesy. He orders a Jack on the rocks, and nurses it while some band that isn’t even talented when you hear them drunk violates the airspace from a jukebox against the far wall.

He’s not allowed his peace for long. “Excuse me,” says a voice at his elbow, and it’s so polite and smooth Toby has a bit of a double-take when he realizes it’s coming from the teenager at the bar. The boy’s got wide eyes and earnest trepidation on his face now, the expression so devoid of surliness it makes him immediately suspicious. “You’re Toby Ziegler, aren’t you.”

Plausible deniability’s out the window, and besides, how many high schoolers know his face anyway? So he says, “I am.”

The kid grins. “Wow. I never would have expected to run into someone like you here.”

Toby shifts on his stool, the best-dressed man in the bar, along with Josh. “Yeah, we don’t usually…” He scratches his forehead. “It’s been sort of an interesting day.”

“Yeah?” He smiles down at his cola for a moment. “Yeah, I bet you guys know all about ‘never a dull moment,’ huh.”

“You could say that.”

The boy remembers himself. “Oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m Sam.” He splays one huge hand over his chest, not yet willing to offer it for a shake. Toby nods, and cups his glass between his hands.

“Nice to meet you, Sam,” he says, and tries to sound like he means it. Donna means well when she tells them they’re not listening, but it’s just Toby’s luck he’ll have to make his _mea culpas_ with a bright-eyed overachiever when all he wants is a dull buzz. Mulish beneath no expression, he tries to be game. “Are you from around here?”

“Aw, no, just — me and my dad and my brother passing through.”

It’s late August — this isn’t so unusual. “On your way to school?”

Something about Sam’s smile becomes a little brittle. “Yeah. Stanford. I got a full ride, so, westward bound.”

“Stanford.” Toby straightens up some. “What are you going to study, do you know?”

“Law.” Sam says it without hesitation, and there’s something of Sam Seaborn in the unfeigned idealism and the boyish face that threatens to make Toby smile. “Or, pre-law. Whatever I can manage.”

“You want to be a lawyer?”

Sam leans on his forearms, not quite making eye contact. “I was… sort of raised to believe I had to make a difference.”

“Well, good for you. Your folks must be proud.”

“Oh, yeah.” Sam is nodding, and Toby wonders if the platitudes are just nerves at meeting a high-ranking member of the Bartlet administration or a cover, for something else. “I, um. I’m not registered to vote yet, not really. But I’ll do it once I get to California. I want to vote for you guys. It’ll be my first time. Well, I mean — not exactly. I voted for Ritchie in the Ohio primary, but that’s because there you can do it if you’ll be eighteen by Election Day, and he seems like a sure thing to beat.”

Toby does laugh at that, silently and into his glass. “I’m glad you think so.” The polls were saying otherwise, as was most of the Hoosier State, but Donna’s reproachful stare has taken up bleacher seats in his subconscious, so he rallies and nudges the conversation in another direction. “You’re having a good time on this trip?”

Sam shrugs. “My last summer with the family before college, you know? We’ve done some interesting things. I want to stop at the House on the Rock if we can. That’s someplace we’ve never been.”

“The what?”

“Sam!” Another young man barges in from out of nowhere, very nearly knocking into Josh on the approach. “There you are!” A moment later he’s looming over Sam, wedging himself between Sam and Toby as if to shield him from the rest of the bar. Toby puts him at around twenty-two, averaging out the roundness of his face and the hardness in his eyes. Sam clamps up, and shoots the guy a look.

“What?”

The guy ignores Toby, pointedly. “Dad wants us back at the room. We’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“It’s like, not even eleven yet!”

“Yeah, well.” The guy’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, but he’s not fooling anyone and he doesn’t care. “We’ve got to make it to Vicksburg by early afternoon, so if I were you I’d drink up and pay your tab.” He claps Sam on the back. Sam doesn’t budge.

“Dean, this is Toby Ziegler,” he says, gritting his teeth. “He works at the White House.”

Dean cocks his head. “Really.”

Toby doesn’t look away. “Yeah.” Dean stands his ground, with no compunction, smirking down at Toby with his hackles up because Toby has dared to talk to his baby brother, even if his baby brother is one of the few men on the planet who could make CJ Cregg look petite. “This your brother?” Toby asks, even if it’s redundant.

Dean grunts. “Yeah.”

“Smart kid.”

The older brother grins. “Our dad sure thinks so.” Sam’s jaw tightens as he glares at his soft drink. Behind them, Toby can just catch Josh shooting him wary glances. The nervousness might not be misplaced: there’s something to Dean that Toby has just recognized from his own father; he wears the look of someone who kills for a living.

“Sam was just telling me about your road trip,” he says, keeping his voice level.

“Was he, now? Yeah, we’re having a blast.”

“Dean.” The word is a warning, even if Dean refuses to acknowledge its weight.

“But, what can I say? We’ve gotta be in Mississippi tomorrow to meet up with somebody, so, nice meeting you.”

Toby lifts both eyebrows. “Doesn’t Stanford start soon?”

The two brothers freeze. “Stanford?” Dean repeats, his sneer transformed into a rictus grin.

Sam tries to slouch down in his chair. “No,” he mumbles. “Not yet.”

“I didn’t know we knew anyone at Stanford,” Dean presses, but he looks shaken, and if Toby hadn’t felt awkward before, he would really like to just get up and go sit back down with Donna, which would be easier to face than this.

“We really don’t have to talk about this—”

“No, I want to hear.” Dean doesn’t seem to realize he’s gripping Sam’s arm. “Stanford?”

Sam springs into action, once again the eager and civic-minded high schooler who’d first introduced himself. “Mr. Ziegler, it was really nice meeting you. Good luck on the campaign and everything.” He unfolds and gets to his feet, shouldering Dean back behind him. Dean’s mouth is tight, and he's looking in exactly the opposite direction.

“Thanks,” Toby says, and stares after them as Sam strides out of the bar and Dean storms after him. “Good luck,” he mutters, and tries not to hear the raised voices fading down the hall. When he looks around again, the whole bar seems relieved the brothers have left. Josh fingers the neck of his beer.

“Think maybe we should get going too?” he asks, eyes darting toward the dance hall where Donna still sits.

Toby pauses, his Jack halfway to his mouth. “Yeah,” he concedes, before throwing back the whiskey. They both collect their coats, and stand aside while a middle-aged man in a business suit settles down in Sam’s place. Some joker has set the jukebox to Guns’n’Roses, and Toby’s head continues to pound as he and Josh walk away again.


End file.
